Stages of Grief
by abc321
Summary: Just a little one-shot. Jane dealing with her emotions. Give it a chance.


**A/N: So I know I should be working on Boston Love and I promise I have the next chapter half way done. But this was something I was inspired to write for the Rizzoli and Isles Fanfic Challenge on Tumblr (and surprisingly it won). Anyway I thought I would share this with all of you who may not have seen it there. Enjoy. Just a simple little one-shot. Let me know what you think. **

She was a master of the stages of grief. She had suffered loss before and knew that she would suffer it again. She was used to working her way through each step. She was practically an expert and had learned to guide herself through each stage with the littlest of effort and move on with her life in no time. It was one of the things that made her such an excellent homicide detective. She was able to move on, to move past the hurt in with her life and do her job. But this time was much different. This time she was stuck.

The olive skinned Italian woman rubbed her face as she sat up in her bed. Her dark eyes were red and they ached and burned that burn that only came with many days and nights of tears constantly falling from them. She had shed far too many tears. More than she had shed in her entire life. Her head throbbed and her thoughts were a jumbled blur in her head. Her apartment was a desolate wasteland. Mountains of dirty laundry and empty takeout containers filled the small living quarters and the stench of stale beer and rotten food hung in the air like a thick cloud, making breathing difficult and painful. At least it felt that way to Jane. Every labored breath she took stung like razorblades shredding her lungs.

The policewoman ached. She felt a pain that she never imagined could exist in the world. It was almost too much for the strong willed woman to bear. She feared that the loss she was dealing with was too great. She feared that it was simply too much to get past. She feared that she would never again be whole, she would never again be the woman she once was. And although she had started the grieving process just as she had every time before, she feared that this time she wouldn't be able to complete it as she had done so many times before.

She went through the steps the same as she always had. At first she attempted to deny that anything had happened, deny that anything had changed. She went on, business as usual. It was as if everything was the same as it had been. She had the same swagger, the same sense of confidence, as she strode into the Homicide unit of the Boston Police Department. She barely noticed the pitiful stares and questioning glances that her friends and family directed towards her. She hardly recognized their pained looks and loud whispers that occurred when she stepped in the room.

But the moment they began to approach her, it was too much to deny. She wasn't able to forget what had happened when they made it real, when they brought her into the present by laying their hands on her shoulder. She couldn't take it when she heard the sadness in their voices when they told her it was all going to be okay. It pained her when they handled her with kid gloves, when they walked on egg shells around her. It made it all too real.

Her anger grew. She began lashing out. She would scream. She would yell. Her Italian, hot-blooded temper would latch on to whatever target was available and she would do her best to transfer every ounce of pain that she felt just so she could feel like her normal self again. She continued to lash and yell at everyone. Everyone until the day she directed her rage at her mother, a woman who had decided that she had had enough.

The Italian matriarch had put up with a lot from her family and had always been there for them whenever they needed her. And that day she had had enough of her moody daughter's abuse of everyone that she loved. She knew that her daughter was hurting but she also decided that it did neither of them any good to allow her daughter to continue with her irrational rage. That day, when it had all become too much, Angela Rizzoli snapped back.

"Damn it. Jane Clementine Rizzoli, pull your head out of your ass. We didn't do this. This isn't our fault."

Jane didn't know whether it was the language that her mother used, which was completely out of character for the older mother of three, or the fact that the woman had screamed at her, but either way it was exactly what she needed to snap her out of her rage and send her spiraling head first into bargaining.

Angela could barely understand her daughter's words as she watched her only girl breakdown in front of her.

"Why me? Why her? It's not fair." The tears fell like a waterfall. Like a dam breaking, the salty water sprang forth from its confines. "I promise I can be better. I promise to go to church and not yell at Korsack and I'll tell you everything that is happening in my life. I will do anything ma, just to have her here in my arms."

"I know baby. But there's nothing you can do to get her back." The mother rubbed her child's back and made a "shhh" sound. She did whatever she could to comfort the one that she had given life to. Angela knew that her daughter had screwed up. She knew that the pain the seemingly strong woman felt was at least partly her own fault. But it wasn't the time to go into that. It was time for Angela to comfort her daughter.

"Ma, I want her here. There has to be something I can do. There has to be a way." Jane plead into her mother's shoulder while the tears she cried soaked the older woman's shirt beneath her.

"I know sweetie. But I am afraid it's too late to do anything." The mother answered quietly, afraid that if she spoke too loudly, the words would rip through her daughter and take her heart with them.

That was when the depression hit and where she stayed. She talked to Cavanaugh and took all of her unused vacation days that she had built up over the years. He didn't mind. She had been no use to the department in the state she was in. She stayed at home. She didn't want to risk seeing anyone from the station. She couldn't see anyone that reminded her of what she had lost. She barricaded herself inside the tiny apartment. She cried. She drank. She called for takeout. She ignored phone calls. She drank more. She slept long hours only to wake up and cry some more. She became dehydrated from the loss of fluid due to the amount of tears she wept.

She knew that all she needed to do was accept that the most beautiful, loving, wonderful, intelligent goddess was gone from her life forever. Acceptance was the last step. It was all she needed to do to get on with her life. But no matter what she did, that one last step evaded her. She couldn't accept that she would never have the chance to look into those captivating hazel eyes and tell the brilliant doctor that she wanted to be with her for the rest of her life. Acceptance. That was all she needed.

NO.

Jane wouldn't accept it. Her mother was wrong. It wasn't too late. It couldn't be too late. There had to be a way. She leapt off the bed with the first surge of energy she had felt in days. Pizza boxes and Chinese takeout containers flew into the air in a whirlwind of cardboard. Bottles clanged and glass shattered. Jane was a fury of dark brunette curls as she searched her apartment for the tiny piece of paper. The piece of paper that she had balled up in her rage. The piece of paper that was high quality cardstock with a beautiful print on it. The piece of paper with that day's date on it. With her name on it. With his name on it.

No. Jane Rizzoli would not accept that she had lost Maura Isles just yet. There was still time. She would not accept that he was going to stand in front of Maura's family and their friends and promise to love, honor and cherish the medical examiner for the rest of her life. She would not accept that he was going to take the woman she loved away, across the country, and leave Jane without the woman she belonged with. She would not accept any of this without at least taking the risk and telling the woman that made her heart beat wildly and made her feel alive that she loved her more than anything in the world.

Maybe she didn't have what he had to offer. She didn't have his money. She didn't have his family name. Maybe she was just a police officer with the Boston Police Department and not the CEO of one of the largest businesses in the country. Maybe she didn't stand a chance when you stacked her against all he had to offer. But she had to try.

Because Jane Rizzoli wouldn't accept anything less than what she knew she deserved. She wouldn't accept anything less than Maura Isles.


End file.
